


Shelter and Strike

by thelittlestbird



Series: Return and Remember [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Future Fic, Gen, Minor Violence, Spoilers for Book 5 - A Dance with Dragons, Spoilers for Book 6 - The Winds of Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestbird/pseuds/thelittlestbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>[Oberyn] was ever the viper. Deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dared tread on him. I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes.</i> Arya as the Oberyn to Sansa's Doran.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter and Strike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/gifts).



> This is a sequel to [Faceless and Invisible](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2004912)

“There’s a Stark in Winterfell,” Jorah began bluntly. “The rumors were true, Your Grace.”

Tyrion took a long gulp of wine. This was not going to be a short or easy Council meeting. Or day. Or year.

Daenerys didn’t look shocked. “How did it happen?” was all that she asked. 

“Stannis abandoned Winterfell when he was cutting his losses.” Jorah was shaken – it showed in his eyes. He was a Northerner still, despite years of exile, and the idea of a Stark in Winterfell had an ancient hold on him. “Sansa Stark has a few soldiers and a powerful name, and moved in.”

“A few soldiers,” Barristan repeated. “She can’t possibly hold it.” He looked first to Jorah, and then to Tyrion. “Do you think she can?”

Tyrion looked up to find all of the eyes of the Council on him. He waved his goblet, brushing them away. “You’re acting as if I know something about the situation just because I’m married to her. I haven’t seen Sansa Stark for four years.”

Daenerys’s gaze rested on Tyrion for another moment, measuring his expression and response. Then she nodded and moved on. “Taking Winterfell itself by force is not easy, even with their fighting force depleted. We have better uses for our resources.” Shoring up their tenuous hold on Dragonstone and the Crownlands, gathering support – they were barely managing to do that much. Nobody wanted to think about the additional complications created by a new Northern power. “She’s not calling herself Queen in the North, though.” That wasn’t a question: Daenerys knew that if Sansa had been claiming that title, Jorah would have said that first. It was a small consolation, but one that they could not be certain would last. “What about the rest of the rumors? Are the Tyrells truly with her?”

“Margaery and Loras are,” Jorah confirmed, his frown deepening. “Which makes me think their chances of holding Winterfell are fairly good.”

Barristan shook his head. “Loras Tyrell is an exceptionally good knight, but that’s not the same thing as a commander. And Highgarden itself has said nothing about where their allegiance lies.”

“Seeing which way the wind blows, as always.” Tyrion rolled his eyes. 

“But if those two are at Winterfell,” Jorah persisted, “then Highgarden must at least be considering an alliance.”

Tyrion snorted. “They’re considering it, until they’re not. If Sansa turns out to be a good lady, or – “ He didn’t quite want to say ‘a good queen,’ not in front of the Queen to whom he’d given his oath. “Or further secures her hold on the North,” he said instead, “then Highgarden will say that they supported her all along. If she falls, then Highgarden will brush off the foolishness of a daughter and a third son, and say that they never wanted Margaery and Loras to be there.”

“Probably right,” Barristan agreed grudgingly – he knew the Tyrells’ machinations just as well as Tyrion did.

Daenerys nodded. “We need to see which way that northern wind is blowing as well.” She met Tyrion’s eyes, and he knew that she wasn’t just agreeing with him: she was giving him an order.

Tyrion dipped his head in a tiny nod that everyone else could mistake as the beginning of another sip of wine, and knew what he had to do.

* * *

Arya was already waiting for him in the passage. 

She’d had to remind herself to breathe half a dozen times since she’d heard the words. Sansa. Winterfell. Sansa. Winterfell. Each one rang deep within her, like a bell or a heartbeat.

The second that she saw Tyrion emerge from behind the tapestry at the passage’s entrance, she rushed at him. “Is it true? It is, isn’t it?”

“Well, you’ve made the first part of my errand easier,” Tyrion quipped. “I don’t need to find you.” Then his voice softened in a way that Arya had hardly ever heard before, and he said, “Yes. It is. Your sister has Winterfell.”

A bonfire rush of pride flared up in Arya, and a grin broke onto her face. The world made a little more sense again, had a little more rightness that Arya hadn’t even realized that it was missing until she got it back. There were Starks in Winterfell.

“And Her Grace would like you to go investigate,” Tyrion finished. 

That brought Arya down to earth with a thump. It was one thing to know that her sister – her _family_ – held Winterfell, and another to think about going there herself. _I’m nobody,_ she told herself. _I’m nobody._ She shouldn’t care who held Winterfell, and she shouldn’t care whether she was given orders to go there or not.

But she did care. She didn’t really mean it anymore when she told herself that she was nobody – it was just something that she told herself when she didn’t want to be Arya. It couldn’t make her not be Arya, though, and she’d known that for a long time. 

“Why do I have to go?” Arya asked. “Why not one of her other people? Why not you?”

“Oh, but if I were to go, that would mean that I exist,” Tyrion said lightly. “Existing is a big commitment, and neither Her Grace nor I are quite ready for that. I’m sure you can sympathize.” Arya didn’t laugh, even though it was a little funny, because she knew that he wasn’t happy about it. And she did understand. Nobody knew about her except for Tyrion and the Queen, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted that to change. “Anyway,” Tyrion continued more seriously, “if I were to go and claim my place as Sansa’s husband, that would mean controlling the North.” 

Sansa’s husband. That wasn’t something that they’d ever really talked about, or something that Arya really wanted to think about. He’d sworn to her once that none of the mummers’ plays were true, that he never hurt Sansa, and she believed him. But she still didn’t want to ask.

“Officially taking control of the North,” Tyrion continued, “well, that’s something else that Her Grace isn’t ready to do. She wants to know what the North is like, first, and to know what Sansa is like as its lady. Her Grace and I know politics, but you know Sansa.” 

Arya nodded slowly. She watched her hands while she listened – her hands that were hard with calluses and crossed with scratches. Sansa’s hands had always been pretty and soft. Were they still? 

“Do you want me to tell her about you?” she asked Tyrion. “That you’re alive?”

She wasn’t surprised that it took him a long time to answer, nor that when he did, he said, “No. Not yet.” She was surprised, though, that he followed that with, “I trust her.” He did? Sansa could never keep a secret, ever. But maybe she could now. “I trust her,” Tyrion repeated, reminding himself that it was true. “But not the Tyrells. And I don’t know who else is around her.”

“Am I supposed to be…myself?” Arya thought the question sounded absurd as soon as she’d said it, but Arya knew that Tyrion wouldn’t laugh.

He smiled instead, and there was a little sadness in his eyes at how much he understood what she meant. “Only if you want to be.”

* * *

She thought about that all the way north as she traveled along the Kingsroad. 

Did she want to be herself? Could she be herself? She didn’t have any answers.

Every day the air got colder and cleaner, with the breath of snow on it even on days when no snow fell. Every day, something caught Arya’s memory to call her back to the other times she had traveled this road: going north with Yoren, going south to King’s Landing with her father. The scent of the water running under the causeway near Moat Cailin, the shape of an arched bridge over the White Knife, the black of a leafless tree against the icy blue sky. Every day, she remembered more and more of the things that Arya had seen in that other lifetime, when she was that other girl.

And every night she dreamed of the wolves running through the Riverlands, chasing and hunting but never satisfied.

Finally, after a fortnight and more of travel, she saw the hills getting higher over the horizon, and she knew what that meant: she was drawing near to Winterfell. But when she crested the last hill to see the familiar castle before her, she stopped short.

Winterfell was broken.

The Maester’s Turret was gone, leaving only a ragged pile of rubble behind to poke out of the high-drifted snow. So was the bridge between the Bell Tower and the Rookery – the bridge that she and Bran had chased each other across half a hundred times or more. There was a pile of stone filling one of the practice yards where she’d trained with Jon. The gargoyles on the First Keep all had broken wings. The glass garden that Sansa had loved was cracked open, letting steam rise up from the hot springs into the frozen air. Everywhere, the stones were scorched and sooty and cracked.

It was like seeing Bran all twisted and broken after he’d fallen.

Her heart wrenched as she stood there, staring blankly at the crumbled stones.

Then, for the first time in four years, Arya cried.

* * *

Thin morning sun streamed into the room that the Lady of Winterfell had claimed as her solar. 

Sansa didn’t know what the room had been before, but she loved the sun, and made it hers. Furnished with soft cushions, warm draperies, the second-best carpet – the best was in the outer room where she received guests – it had everything that Sansa could do to bring comfort and quiet to her little refuge away from the world.

Margaery had found most of the decorations; Sansa had no idea how or where. Maybe she had brought them from the South; maybe she had bought or traded for them in the Winter Town – although, who in that small town would have such fine things? But Margaery always found a way. She’d found a way to get out of King’s Landing when the Lannisters were overthrown by the New Pretender; found a way to get Loras out of Dragonstone and escape to Greywater Watch where Sansa had taken refuge after the Eyrie was abandoned. That they’d managed to find each other at all was like something out of a story.

Sansa didn’t believe in stories anymore, but she believed in Margaery. 

This room, the solar, was their place together, where nobody would wonder at the Lady of Winterfell being alone with her advisor – or, at least, no more than they usually wondered and whispered at the presence of Sansa’s southron allies. Much of the North rejoiced at seeing a Stark in Winterfell once more, but not all were so joyful that the Tyrells had joined her. Would Sansa have sent Margaery and Loras away if she hadn’t loved Margaery, or if she had only loved Margaery and gotten no political help from her? Perhaps. But that was a decision that Sansa was forever grateful that she did not have to make. And so Margaery stayed, and when the Northern bannermen grumbled, Sansa simply smiled and nodded, and let them grumble, but did not budge.

Today, though, they had a bigger problem than a few grumbles. “Is the embassy from Skagos truly necessary?” Margaery sighed. “Lord Einar’s men are taking up far more than their share of the guesthouse. And the ale.”

“He doesn’t like being called Lord,” Sansa corrected absently. “Just Einar. And yes, it is necessary. We need to know whether Rickon is on Skagos.”

“Do we?” Margaery asked, arching a gently skeptical brow. “You are doing well enough on your own as Lady of Winterfell. The nobles are beginning to come around – it will be slow, of course, but they are accepting you. The Glovers and Norreys and Umbers are yours, and the Mormonts are starting to come around. _You_ have done that. If Rickon comes back, then all of that is disrupted.”

“If I do not try to bring him back,” Sansa countered, “then I am neglecting my duty to Winterfell as much as if I were refusing to find new guards, or not repairing the smithy.” So many repairs. So many people to be hired and fed and clothed and armed. Sansa pushed down the numbers that swirled in her head, and looked back up to Margaery. “I must try to find Rickon.”

Margaery shook her head, lips pressing together in disapproval. “Stannis tried to find him too, and he failed. And even if you succeed, it will undo everything you’ve worked for.”

“I can’t abandon my brother!” Sansa’s voice and composure cracked, letting the depth of her emotion show through. Even here, alone with Margaery, she felt the twinge of having done something wrong, to let that much desperation show.

Margaery saw the regret along with the pain, and put her arms around Sansa to soothe it away. “I’m not saying that you should abandon him, sweetling. I would never say that.” Sansa let out a long slow breath, easing into Margaery’s embrace. “I’m simply saying that if he were to return now, it would put your sovereignty at risk. If there is one Stark in Winterfell, then that gives the people of the North a center, a single point where they can direct their love and hope and fealty. If Rickon returns, then he is the Stark in Winterfell, and you are…not,” she finished simply. “He is a child, and everyone will do their best to take advantage of that. They’ll try to sway him, influence him, turn him against you.”

“But I would be his regent.” A glimmer of a smile returned to Sansa’s face – she’d thought of all of this already, and it pleased her that she had. “Others might try to influence him, but we can make certain that they don’t succeed. I can surround him with people that we know are loyal to me. And those who aren’t, I’ll keep busy with other things – positions that make them feel important, but keep them far away from Rickon.” She was speaking more swiftly now, her certainty returning more with every word. But her voice dropped off into quiet again as she finished, “I’ll find a way. He’s my brother. He’s the only one left. I _have_ to.”

Margaery sighed and held Sansa closer. “All right. We’ll try.” 

***

Arya knew what she needed to do now. She’d choose a face and a name, go into the Winter Town, find a tavern and ask around about the new Lady of Winterfell. She’d done it a dozen times before – she’d done it when she was going to Dragonstone to see Queen Daenerys. She knew it worked; she knew it was the right way to get information.

But every time she started to focus on making herself a new face, she stopped. 

It didn’t feel right, putting on someone else’s face or calling herself by someone else’s name. Being Faceless wasn’t lying, exactly, but it wasn’t telling the truth, either. And here, next to Winterfell, she wanted to tell the truth. 

It took her another day and another night to work up the courage to walk through the gates of Winterfell wearing her own face. But she did.

 

* * * 

“My lady.” Catrin Mollen shifted awkwardly from foot to foot on the threshold of the Lady of Winterfell’s receiving room. It was unusual, given the seneschal’s usual crisp composure, and Sansa and Margaery exchanged a quick, uneasy glance when they picked up on Catrin’s discomfort. “There’s – “ Catrin cut off and started again. “There’s someone in the Great Hall who says that she’s your sister Arya.”

Sansa’s breath caught, and her eyes sparked with sudden hope. “There is?”

Margaery suppressed a wince. “Sansa,” she said quietly. 

“What?” Sansa asked, swiftly indignant. 

Margaery shook her head, and met Catrin’s eyes across the room as she said, “We’ve been here before.” 

The first “Arya” was poor Jeyne Poole, whom they had found broken and silent after months of abuse. She still lived in Winterfell: she’d been Sansa’s friend once, and part of the Winterfell household, so Sansa felt that she would have owed Jeyne a place anyway. That Jeyne was so badly in need of help just made Sansa want to give her safety even more. The second Arya had chosen to arrive at a time when Sansa wasn’t there, and talked her way past the servants so convincingly that she would have gotten away with stealing the silver if the guards hadn’t caught her on the way out. There had been a dozen more after that: some too old, some southern, some just obviously not Arya. 

After every one, Margaery had cradled Sansa in her arms for hours until the sobbing stopped, and left Sansa for long hours more to mourn in the godswood. She could hardly bear to see Sansa’s heart broken again.

Sansa’s eyes flickered down. “I know,” she said, her voice matching Margaery’s low quiet tone. “I know we’ve been here before. But I have to try. I have to.”

 _Don’t let yourself get hurt by false hope_ , Margaery almost said, but she knew it would do no good. Sansa always had hope, and if this hope failed, she would find another one. It was one of the reasons why Margaery loved Sansa so much. She let out a sigh, and reached over to Sansa’s hand a gentle squeeze. “All right. I’ll go with you, then.”

The girl that stood in the Great Hall was thin, brown-haired, long-faced, with a slender sword on her hip. She was shorter than Margaery, but she held herself with as much confidence as if she were a foot taller. Only the flickering of her gray eyes betrayed the deep fear within her – and even that was so slight that Margaery wasn’t even sure that she had seen it.

She could be Arya. She was around the right age, the right coloring. But so were most of the others. 

Margaery braced for yet another disappointment – but then she looked over at Sansa, and saw a smile on her face that was like a butterfly opening its wings for the first time. It lit up Sansa’s eyes with a brilliant glow. Margaery had already thought that Sansa was beautiful, but had never seen so much beauty as in that one moment of joy.

“Oh, Arya!” Sansa gasped. By the time she reached her sister, the tears were already falling. 

For a second, Arya held herself motionless, eyes wide with fear at the sudden embrace. But little by little, like snow melting in the sun, she softened, unwound, eased. She shivered once, shaking off the last of the stiff fear that had bound her tight, and then put her arms around her sister and whispered, “Yes. It’s me. I’m here.”

* * *

That night, Arya dreamed of the quiet tree. Its branches swayed and its leaves danced, and Arya could have sworn that it laughed with joy.

* * *

Sansa felt as if she were flying. 

_My sister is alive. My sister is here!_ She had to keep saying it over to herself to remind herself that it was real. She’d been disappointed so many times it was hard to remember that this time, she hadn’t been. She’d spent the night alternately laughing and crying in Margaery’s arms, all of her joy and relief spilling out in a jumble of emotions.

The joy was still there the next morning. At first light, Sansa rushed out to the godswood to give thanks, and when she came back up to the solar, she was singing.

Margaery was already there, sorting through the day’s messages. Her smile brightened when she saw the joy still there on Sansa’s face. “Good morning,” she said softly.

“Good morning! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Margaery smiled. “Yes, sweetling, it still is.”

Sansa came to rest on the edge of a chair, gathering her skirts neatly about her - the gesture had become instinctive after years of practice, and her hands moved on their own even as her mind raced ahead with a dozen happy thoughts. “We’ll have to have a feast tonight for Arya. Could you tell Catrin to tell the kitchen staff? We’ll have - ” She stopped then – she couldn’t remember what Arya liked best to eat, and it sent a little pang through her. But then she recovered, saying, “We’ll have whatever Arya asks for. And tomorrow, I’ll speak to Einar and Hakon again.” If Arya could be alive, maybe Rickon could be, too.

Margaery knew what Sansa meant with that change of subject, and she sighed as she always did at the mention of the Skagosi. “We can try. But we can’t trust them. They’re holding something back, and not just about Rickon. I can tell.”

Just then, Catrin poked her head around the edge of the door frame. “Lady Sansa? It’s – your sister.” The words were still strange to Catrin, but when she said them, she smiled.

Sansa felt her own smile rush brightly up, and she said at once, “Send her in. Please!”

Margaery reached out to touch Sansa’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you,” she said softly. “You need some time alone with her.”

It wasn’t until Margaery was almost out the door that Sansa wished she could call her back, seized by a sudden, horrible uncertainty. For years she’d dreamed of finding Arya, but now that she was here, what was Sansa going to say? What if she said the wrong thing? Or, what if they did nothing but quarrel, the way they had when they were children? Sansa couldn’t bear it.

She wasn’t sure whether she felt better or worse to see that Arya looked uncertain, too. 

Arya was in the clothes she’d worn the day before – sturdy, scruffy, brown, nondescript. Trousers, of course, and well-worn boots. Sansa wasn’t sure whether Arya would want to be offered new clothes, or whether Catrin already had and Arya had refused. She decided that it would be better not to offer a dress, at least, until she knew more, at least.

And then the door closed, and they were alone. 

Sansa had learned dozens of ways to start conversations and to set people at ease, but none of them were coming to her today. The only one that she could think of was, “Shall I call for tea?” That was always safe. Tea gave you something to do with your hands, something besides the other person to look at.

To Sansa’s relief, Arya nodded. She stood at the edge of the room, her back near the wall but not quite leaning on it, glancing towards the door every few seconds as if expecting someone to come in.

“Please, sit down,” Sansa offered, with a welcoming smile. 

Arya shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m all right.”

The silence stretched on, full of the thousands of things that Sansa wanted to say but couldn’t figure out how. 

Finally, the door did open, and it was Catrin with the tea, and a few small dishes of food as well.

“Lemon cakes,” Arya noticed, and gave something like her old grin. “You still like them.”

Sansa found herself grinning back. “I never stopped.”

And then they were smiling at each other, and things felt a little easier. Arya even sat down – easier to drink tea when you’re sitting down, Sansa supposed.

The questions about the last few years were still enormous, and the distance between them even larger, but Sansa felt as if she could at least try to begin. “Where were you?” 

Arya shrugged. “Braavos, eventually. Learning how to disguise myself, and fight.” Her voice was neutral, but Sansa could hear that there was more behind it. And she hadn’t missed that “eventually” – there was more behind that word, too. But she couldn’t even begin to figure out how to ask. “And then I came back to see what was going on here,” Arya continued, “and I went to Queen Daenerys.” Arya looked up, her eyes meeting Sansa’s with an unsettlingly direct gaze. “She sent me. Nobody knew that I was there except her. She doesn’t want to stop you, but she wants to know more about you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Sansa replied. “It is always better to be honest.” That got a flicker of a smile from Arya, although Sansa didn’t know why. “I want to know more about Daenerys, too.” She was always careful not to call anyone ‘king’ or ‘queen’; she would not do that until – or unless – she had bent the knee to one of them. 

Her mind swirled with questions – about Arya’s time before going to Braavos, about Daenerys. She knew that Margaery would have questions too, and that she would have more questions of her own after talking everything over with Margaery. 

This girl wasn’t the Arya that she had lost all those years ago. Oh, it was the same person; Sansa knew that. But the way her eyes looked straight through Sansa, the way she held herself so still that she barely even blinked – all of that was new.

Then again, Sansa knew that she was hardly the girl that Arya had left, either. She felt the difference in herself every time she stepped out in front of the court and arranged her face in that careful neutrality; every time she chose her words; every time she watched someone’s face to see if she could tell what they were thinking. Every time her heart leapt at the sight of Margaery; every time it sank at the fear that she had said the wrong thing and worried about who her words might have hurt. 

But this was who they both were now, and they would have to get to know each other.

“I’m very happy that you’re back,” Sansa said. “Truly.”

Arya tensed, as if expecting a blow to follow the words. But then she swallowed, and gave Sansa a crooked smile, a softer and more real smile than she’d given since she arrived. “So am I,” Arya said softly. She reached out to take the hand that her sister offered, just for a second, and then pulled away. 

Sansa didn’t press for anything more. There would be time enough for her to learn how to be close to her sister again.

* * *

The Great Hall of Winterfell rang with laughter and voices as people waited for the feast to begin. Banners hung on the walls, covering some of the spots where new wood filled in for old, and where the char of fires past couldn’t be cleaned off of the ancient stones. 

Arya stood awkwardly in the corner, waiting.

A few people looked curiously at her because she wasn’t wearing a gown, but most didn’t notice her, because she didn’t want to be noticed. Arya knew how to make sure that people would look past her: shoulders slightly tilted in, chin slightly tilted down, eyes not meeting anyone else’s. But she was still looking at the other people, even if she was doing her best to get them not to look at her.

She had felt strange ever since she returned. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy, because of course she was. But she felt…off-balance. Un-centered. Everything at Winterfell was the same, but different. And when Sansa had hugged her, even though she was safe and enclosed, she felt more exposed than she ever did when she was alone on the road under the empty sky.

She didn’t recognize the colors or badges of the people that milled to and fro in the Great Hall, even though she knew they were the familiar colors of the Stark bannermen: a silver fist on red, a flurry of thistles on yellow. Her mother would have known every one – but she pushed that thought back. She watched as they clumped together for brief conversations and then dispersed again, like ripples going through a stream after a rock was thrown in.

When the door opened and Sansa came in, the current changed – everyone moved towards her. And as Sansa moved towards them, Arya saw that the chaos of colors and heraldry made sense to her sister, because she knew everyone. “Lord Galbart, it is good that you could be here. Lady Jeyna, I hope you have had a chance to visit the godswood. Ser Brandon, is your mother better?” Sansa spoke to a dozen people and more as she made her way to the high table, and knew every one: not just the houses, but the names, and things about them. She listened to them so carefully that it was as if for that minute, they were the only person in the room for Sansa.

Arya had never seen that expression on Sansa’s face before: the deep attentiveness, the gracious little smile. Was it like their father putting on his lord’s face? Or was this just who Sansa was now, all the time?

Finally, Sansa reached the platform where the high table stood. She beckoned to Arya as she climbed the steps, and the chatter in the Great Hall quieted.

“Sworn Houses of the North!” Arya didn’t know that Sansa’s voice could be so loud. Maybe Sansa had just never tried before. “I speak to you tonight with the happiest of news. My sister Arya, whom we thought lost, has been returned to us.” 

That was the cue for Arya to climb up next to Sansa. Just like when she was with the mummers, she had to play her part: stand where she was told, move where she was told, and hit her mark. But this time, she wasn’t a mummer. She was herself. She had to be Arya Stark, and stare out at the faces of the people of the North who had sworn themselves to her sister, who remembered her parents, who wanted her to be something she wasn’t. Who were staring back at her – first whispering, then murmuring.

And then cheering. 

They shouted loud enough that Arya thought the new timbers on the roof were going to shake and come down. One or two even wiped their eyes. After so many years of war and loss, to learn that a Stark was alive rather than dead was cause for happiness indeed. 

Arya stood through it all, wondering what she should be feeling. She wanted to cheer with them, but she wasn’t sure that she could.

Sansa raised a hand, and the cheering quieted enough to let her speak again. “The North rejoices,” she said, “and we will feast together tonight to celebrate. And, if House Stane will have it so, then perhaps there will be cause for more rejoicing to come.” 

That set off another wave of murmurs. For once, Arya knew what it meant; she had heard people talking about that all over Winterfell. Sansa thought that Rickon might be alive too, and wanted to send someone to Skagos to look for him. Nobody knew why the Skagosi of House Stane wouldn’t let her.

Arya tried to picture Rickon, but all she could remember was a tiny baby with chubby grabbing hands. She knew he wasn’t a baby anymore; he had to be big boy of seven or eight. But Arya couldn’t hold that image in her mind.

“So tonight,” Sansa finished, “let us be happy, and look to the future.” As Sansa turned away from the crowd she caught Arya’s eye, and gave her a smile that was so bright and true that Arya couldn’t help smiling back.

As soon as Arya stepped down from the dais, everyone crowded in around her. “Lady Arya! The gods have blessed us!” “Lady Arya, I would recognize you anywhere.” “I remember when you were just a babe.” They closed in tighter and tighter, their voices getting louder and louder until they became a single roar. It felt like she was underwater.

Arya ducked under the arm of a tall man with a silver-fist badge, around the sweeping skirt of an old lady, and ran.

She was barely looking where she was going, but this was Winterfell, and she didn’t need to look – she could run through these halls with her eyes closed. A few seconds later, she burst through the door and out into the night full of stars and snow. She flattened herself against the wall, breathing in the sharp cold air. In and out. _Calm as still water._

Then she heard voices approaching, and her breath stopped.

“You think this little brown wolf-pup really is who they say she is?” a man’s rumbling voice asked. Arya held herself very very still and listened.

“Oh, this one’s real,” another man answered. His voice wasn’t as low as the first, and had a harsh, rough note to it. “I saw Ned Stark once – she’s him all over again. No wonder the Lady’s gone all soft for family.”

“You don’t think she’ll really come to Skagos?” asked the first.

The other snorted. “What, the Lady herself? It’d muss her pretty hair!”

 _Come_ to Skagos? The phrasing caught Arya’s attention. Slowly, she edged along the wall until she could peek around the corner to see who was speaking.

It was Lord Einar of House Stane and his cousin Hakon. They were both huge, with their shaggy hair and shaggy beards blending in with their rough fur cloaks.

She sank back into the darkness and listened. _Quiet as shadow. _Even though she knew these men were probably dangerous, she felt more at ease here than she had up in front of the court. Listening to nobles’ conversations in the dark and reporting to the lady of the castle – this was what she did now, and she knew that she did it well.__

__“You know what I mean!” Hakon persisted. He had been the first to speak, the one with the deeper rumbling voice. Arya was surprised to hear a hint of apprehension in it now. “She sounded serious about it. Do you think she’ll send someone?”_ _

__There was a long pause before Einar answered. “Maybe,” he admitted. “You’re right, she sounded like she meant it. We’ll have to stall her some more. Or make sure she never gets there.”_ _

__“We could say that we’ll bring the boy to her?” Hakon suggested._ _

__Einar snorted again, the scorn making the rough notes in his voice grate even more. “Even she won’t believe _that_.” _ _

__Arya stiffened. She wanted to defend Sansa – her sister wasn’t that gullible! Not anymore, anyway. But that wasn’t the only thing making her heart beat faster – it was what their words meant, but didn’t say. Did they really have Rickon?_ _

__“We could tell her that she can try,” Hakon said, “and then make sure that she’ll never get there.” Arya’s breath caught. “The waters are treacherous for ships that don’t know their way.”_ _

__Einar thought that was funny. “They are at that,” he chuckled. “But if one disappears, then they’ll just send another. And what if that second ship gets through, or what if someone gets away to tell what they saw?”_ _

__“We could let them in; tell them that they can go look for the boy if they want. Who knows, they might even find him.”_ _

__“Let them wander about on their own? Hakon, are you mad?”_ _

__“Cousin, it’s not like you to be cautious.”_ _

__“Well, we’ve never had something to be cautious about!” Einar retorted. “This is too important to go boasting about in every mead-hall. Something to hold over the Lady of Winterfell _and_ something to hold over Stannis Baratheon? How much do you think he’d give to get that ship back? We have to wait till the moment is right.”_ _

__Arya crept away. She’d heard enough._ _

__

__* * *_ _

__“They’ve got a ship.”_ _

__Sansa felt oddly comforted that after all this time, Arya still burst into the room to make abrupt announcements that nobody understood. “Who has a ship?” she asked._ _

__“The Skagosi!” Arya’s impatience was the same, too. Sansa expected her to start shouting that everyone was stupid, or to start kicking things. She didn’t, though; she just paced restlessly around the solar._ _

__It was late enough that on any other night, Sansa and Margaery would have long been abed, but the feast had gone on for hours past when a usual supper would have ended, and they had been in the solar when Arya came charging up the stairs._ _

__On any other night, and with any other person, Sansa would have pushed a guest out of the solar and into the receiving room, or pushed them away entirely. It was late; she was with Margaery; it wasn’t planned. But somehow, Sansa didn’t want to tell Arya to go elsewhere. If anyone in the world would be allowed in to this little room, it should be Arya. Sansa didn’t even mind if Arya noticed that Margaery was with her late at night, or if Arya asked questions. Sansa was astonished that she felt that way, but she did._ _

__So Margaery didn’t object, and now Arya was there, pacing around the little room with long swift steps. “They captured one of Stannis’s ships,” Arya explained. “That’s why they don’t want to let anyone go to Skagos. They don’t want us to know about the ship.”_ _

__That was important, very much so – but Sansa only had one question in her mind. “What about Rickon?”_ _

__“He’s on Skagos.” Arya stopped her swift pacing to look up at Sansa, and something in Arya’s wary, impatient eyes softened enough to show that she knew just how much that answer meant to her sister. “They don’t know where,” she said, almost gently, and definitely apologetically. “But they’re sure he’s somewhere on the island.”_ _

__Sansa’s heart lifted. She had feared that Einar might have been stalling because Rickon was dead, or captured by someone else. But he was alive! Alive! She felt Margaery’s hand on her arm, and reached over to clasp it tight with her own, inwardly rejoicing._ _

__“So they don’t want to go find him,” Arya continued, “and they don’t want us to go looking because they don’t want us to see the ship.”_ _

__“They have a secret that they want to keep.” Margaery spoke for the first time, and smiled a little as she did. “We can use that. Arya, how did you hear this?”_ _

__“I followed them when they left the feast.” Arya shrugged. “It was easy.”_ _

__Margaery blinked. “Easy? To get away from half a hundred Northerners who wanted to talk to you, and to follow two very wary and well-trained Skagosi?”_ _

__Arya just shrugged again. Margaery’s smile tipped up, and Sansa knew what that look meant: Margaery had learned something new about Arya, and was tucking it away to use in the future._ _

__“Thank you for telling us,” Sansa put in. “This is very important.” She paused, and then offered, in a softer voice, “Do you…want to stay for a bit? Perhaps we could talk some more?”_ _

__For a moment, Arya looked like she was going to say yes. Sansa could see the hunger in her sister’s eyes as she looked around at the cozy warmth of the solar. But Arya shook her head, and said, “No.” She swallowed, and added, more softly, “Maybe another time.”_ _

__

__* * *  
Arya had tried practicing with the other guards on her second day at Winterfell and it hadn’t worked. Half of them used weapons that made for awkward fights – she _could_ use Needle against an axe; it just didn’t give her the practice that she really wanted – and the other half fought with an irritating timidness because they didn’t want to hurt her. _ _

__So now she practiced alone. Wooden swords against the practice dummies. Water-dancing forms atop the rails of the fence, leaping lightly over the posts._ _

__Ignoring the stares of the people who came to gawk at her. It was the only way she could focus. Because she had to focus, because practicing was only way she could feel like herself._ _

__She skipped down the fence-rail, feeling her feet hit the wood with sharp precision. At the end, she sprang down to the ground – and there was Margaery Tyrell. “Good morning, Lady Arya,” Margaery said with a friendly smile._ _

__Arya wiped sweat from her forehead before it could chill her in the frigid morning air. “Good morning.” She could see a few other people hanging around the edges of the practice yard, waiting to talk to her, but they all kept back, letting Margaery talk instead. Everyone knew that she was Sansa’s closest advisor, and nobody wanted to risk offending the Lady of Winterfell by being rude to Margaery._ _

__Arya thought that she could probably get away with it, but she didn’t really want to. She could see how much Sansa liked Margaery, and didn’t want to hurt Sansa._ _

__“I hope you don’t mind that I was watching,” Margaery continued. “I thought I knew what water dancing looked like, but I was wrong. What you were doing – it’s very impressive. Talent like yours should be treasured. And skill, too – I have no doubt that you trained for a long time to learn to fight like that.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Arya said. She didn’t see any signs that Margaery was lying about what she thought. But she supposed that you didn’t have to lie to flatter._ _

__“Are you planning to stay long?” Margaery asked. “I hope you don’t need to return to Dragonstone right away.” Arya stiffened – Sansa had told her? Margaery saw it, and added quickly, “Don’t worry. Only Sansa and I know that. I understand your need to be discreet about where you’ve been.”_ _

__Arya hadn’t even told Sansa the whole truth: she’d said that Queen Daenerys was the only person who knew she was on Dragonstone. But she didn’t want to tell Sansa about Tyrion, not yet._ _

__“It’s made your sister very happy to have you here, you know.” Margaery’s voice softened over those words in a way that made Arya cock her head curiously. So Margaery wasn’t only interested in politics; she truly cared about Sansa’s happiness. Good, Arya thought._ _

__Margaery was watching her, so she had to say something. “I’m glad,” Arya said, her gaze lifting to meet Margaery’s and then skittering away again. “I…don’t know how long I’m going to stay. But at least a fortnight or so.”_ _

__“Oh, I’m glad,” Margaery said – again, Arya thought she sounded like she meant it. “You’ll be an asset to our fighters, to be sure. And – I wonder if you might talk to the Skagosi.” She said it as if she were just coming up with the idea this minute, but Arya could tell that she’d been planning to say that since the beginning of the conversation._ _

__“Me?” Arya snorted. “Why? If Sansa hasn’t gotten them to talk, what makes you think I can?”_ _

__Margaery smiled. “Oh, but we don’t always want diplomacy. You’re right that if we want someone to smooth over ruffled feathers, Sansa is the right person for that task. But often, there are other things that need to be done.”_ _

__“Oh.” Arya thought for a moment. “Do you want them to go away?”_ _

__“Not without making the agreement.”_ _

__That wasn’t what Arya had meant, but if Margaery didn’t understand the question, then the answer was probably ‘no.’ Arya shrugged, and let Margaery continue: “I understand that you have different strengths than Sansa does, and I have been considering how each of you can use your strengths in the best way. I think I have an idea…”_ _

__

__* * *  
Sansa knew that she was going to hate this._ _

__She always hated being underestimated, hated being thought weak and stupid._ _

___It can be your strength_ , Margaery had told her. _You can take people by surprise. And even if you don’t, there is strength in bending and adapting, strength in figuring out what people want to hear and letting them hear it. You have that kind of strength in you, sweetling. You always have.__ _

__Sansa wrapped her dignity around her like armor, and tried to think of what she was about to do as strong, because she knew that Margaery’s plan was the right one._ _

__She tilted her head down to look at Einar and Hakon from the height of the dais in the Great Hall. “Einar and Hakon of House Stane,” she greeted them formally. “I have called you here to ask once again to give my people permission to go to Skagos. Having my sister returned to me has made me understand the importance of family all the more strongly.” She let a slight quiver come into her voice, just the way she’d practiced, and saw Margaery’s eyes spark with approval through discreetly lowered lashes. It eased some of Sansa’s unhappiness at hearing the mutters from the Skagosi. “I know how important family is in the far north, and in a place like Skagos, where there is little else but family to sustain us. I can only hope that our loyal bannermen remember that, too, and hold it as important as I do.”_ _

__The Skagosi stood like two rocks. Sansa couldn’t tell if she was getting through at all. But she knew what she was supposed to say next, so she moved ahead. “There is nothing that I can do to force you,” Sansa said with a delicate sigh of regret. “But I know that you are good strong men.” That brought the first hint of a smile to Einar and Hakon’s faces, just as she had hoped it would. They thought she was flattering them; they thought she was giving up. Perhaps this was going to work after all. “All I can do is to have confidence in your own sense of family, and in your desire to do what is right for the North.”_ _

__* * *  
Arya was waiting for Einar and Hakon outside the Great Hall, right in the middle of the path where they couldn’t ignore her._ _

__They tried anyway, with a barely-less-than-contemptuous, “My lady,” from Einar as they pushed past her._ _

__She danced lightly backwards to land directly in front of them once more. Hakon’s surprise showed; Einar’s was too deeply hidden under his shaggy beard and deep scowl. “You need to listen to my sister,” she told them bluntly. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”_ _

__“Get out of the way,” Einar growled. He wanted to hit her – Arya could see the little muscles in his hand twitching. But even he wouldn’t dare to strike the sister of the Lady of Winterfell. Not yet, at least._ _

__Arya stood her ground. “No.” She barely came up to their shoulders. That was just as well – she was used to fighting taller people. She started measuring: how many weapons they were wearing, how broad their shoulders were, how easy it would be to knock them off balance. The whole time, she kept her head tilted up, so it looked like she was staring them straight in the eyes._ _

__“You should get out of our way, _little girl_ ,” Einar said. “Or you’ll be the one who’s sorry. You know what they say about the Skagosi.” He bared his teeth in an ugly grin. “They say we eat our enemies’ livers. Sometimes, their hearts, too. Sometimes, we even kill them first.”_ _

__“You don’t,” Arya said bluntly. “You’re just saying that to scare me. And I’m not scared.”_ _

__“Maybe you should be scared,” said Hakon. Her steady gaze was starting to unsettle him – she could see him starting to look around, as if he were trying to figure out what he was missing about this scene._ _

__“But I’m not.” Arya took a step closer. “You’re not keeping us out because you don’t want us to find our brother. You’re keeping us out because you don’t want us to find your _ship._ ”_ _

__That struck home._ _

__So did Arya’s knife._ _

__Five seconds later, Einar was writhing on the ground. Five seconds after that, Hakon was too, Arya’s knife still in his foot._ _

__“I know what you’re hiding,” Arya said as she stood over them, her voice very quiet and calm. “Never mind how. All that matters is that you don’t want anyone else to know. So you’re going to let my sister send someone to look for Rickon.” She pressed her foot down on Einar’s knee, just enough to make it hurt. He let out a low whine. “Or else I’ll tell Stannis Baratheon that you’ve got his ship, and _he’ll_ come for you.” She bent low over them, close enough to whisper: “And after he’s done, _I’ll come back._ ” Hakon’s eyes widened with fear, and she knew she had them._ _

__Einar tried one last hoarse protest as he clutched at his wounded shoulder. “Your sister’ll throw you out when she finds out that you’ve done this!”_ _

__“No, she won’t,” Arya said, still calm. “She knows that someone needs to get the job done.”_ _

__* * *  
As soon as the winds were favorable, a group of Winterfell men set sail for Skagos, with the promise of House Stane’s protection for as long as they needed to search for Rickon. They didn’t tell Sansa why they had suddenly changed their mind, and she didn’t ask. But she knew._ _

__Margaery feared that Sansa was making a terrible mistake, and hoped that she was not making one herself in letting Sansa go forward. But how could she refuse trying to heal the broken family of the lady she loved?_ _

__***_ _

__The ravens were kept in the gatehouse now, and would be until the Maester’s Turret could be rebuilt. It took Arya a little while to get the bird to stop squirming so that she could attach the letter that she’d written out so carefully in Tyrion’s code._ _

___Your Grace –_ _ _

___Thank you for helping me. I hope I’ve helped you in return, and hope I can do it again in the future. I’ll still tell you everything I promised to, but I have to stay here to help Sansa, because she needs me._ _ _

___She hasn’t sworn herself to anyone yet, but I hope that when she does, it will be to you. You’re the kind of queen she’d want to serve, and I think she’s the kind of lady that you’d want to have serve you._ _ _

___I’ll write more soon._ _ _

___-A.S._ _ _

__Then she set the raven free and watch it fly away over the walls of Winterfell._ _


End file.
